


the day beyond now

by renaissance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drabble Sequence, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 06:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10961721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: Percy and George after the war, told in glimpses.





	the day beyond now

**Author's Note:**

> Posting after so long... hey guys, I'm not dead! AO3 user aroceu and I have been challenging each other to do certain writing things lately and today was "drabble day." I'm actually happy with today's effort so here it is! Each drabble is precisely 100 words, old school style. I had so much fun playing around with the format of each drabble in this sequence. The title is from Belle and Sebastian's "I Fought In A War."
> 
> (Yes this is genfic but there's also background Percy/Oliver because that's just who I am as a person. Also I might be... gearing up to write something longer...)

After the war, they don’t talk about it. Percy goes through the motions because the motions are all he knows how to go through and when his phone rings he doesn’t answer it. He waits, and no-one says anything to him, so he says nothing to anyone.

It’s only two months later when there’s a knock on his door. George, who says—

“Why haven’t you come back home?”

“I killed him,” Percy says. He shakes his head, uncomprehending. “I killed him, George.”

George just looks at him. There’s no way he’ll ever understand. Percy lets him leave without another word.

 

* * *

 

The next time they meet is momentary, in passing. Percy is back at the Ministry and he’s not working as hard as he used to—isn’t allowed to—but that doesn’t mean he keeps reasonable hours. He likes to wander the corridors, keeping an eye on things, and sometimes he even passes by the courtrooms when there’s a Death Eater on trial.

He turns a corner just as there’s a trial coming out, and George is walking with the crowd of those who must’ve testified—wouldn’t be there for any other reason—and George only spares him a brief glance.

 

* * *

 

“You know I didn’t _literally_ kill him, George” Percy says. He’s drunk. “I was just. There. When he died.”

No response.

“I was so distracted. I had just got the Minister—well, the fake Minister—and I thought that would be it, and we would move on, me and—duelling side by side.”

No response.

Percy wipes at his eyes. “I didn’t see it happen. One second he was laughing, and the next—”

No response.

“—he was dead.”

“Perce,” Oliver says, “George isn’t here. He left an hour ago.”

“He was dead,” Percy says again. “Maybe I _did_ kill him.”

 

* * *

 

“Happy birthday, George.”

George stares at Percy, gobsmacked. “Percy. _What is this_?”

Percy raises one eyebrow, trying to seem wry and unaffected when he’s seconds away from tears. “I wasn’t doing nothing these last four years. While you and—while you were off chasing your dreams, I was out making money.”

“I know _that_ ,” George says. “We made money too, you know.”

“Of course, but you could always use more.” Percy pushes the cheque forward more insistently. “I don’t have any dreams right now. I want to help you with yours.”

For a very long while, George doesn’t say anything.

 

* * *

 

Usually, the answer to George’s question would be a firm _no_. But it’s the end of a long day at the Ministry and Percy is exhausted and above all else, he’s curious.

George clicks his tongue and elbows Percy. “You’re not paying attention. I said, want to do something reckless?”

“Yes,” Percy says, too quickly. “I mean—maybe you should tell me what it is first.”

“I want to change things,” George says. He shrugs. “You work for the Ministry. You can make laws.”

Percy doesn’t have that sort of power, let alone experience. He says, “I can. Go on.”

 

* * *

 

George says “thank you” at last on Percy’s fifteenth day helping out around the shop—he’s been keeping track—because Lee’s off with the flu and there’s no-one else who really _gets_ what George is trying to do with the place. But Percy understands, perhaps better than anyone else: George is trying to carve a place for himself in a world without Fred and he’s trying to make it distinct, keeping Fred’s memory alive but moving on, too. Shining a light, because they can’t live in his shadow forever. And Percy is more than happy to be part of it.

 

* * *

 

“So, still no progress?”

Percy sighs. “We’re working on it. If it passes, the new laws should be in place within the year.”

“A _year_.”

George is right to be incredulous. Drafting this legislation had been as much his work as Percy’s: a way for students to graduate Hogwarts without their NEWTs and spend the last two years doing a part-time internship to give them industry experience. It’s as much Fred’s work, too.

“You can’t ask for much better from the old windbags in the DMLE,” Percy says. “Given where we started, the fact that we got anywhere at all—”

 

* * *

 

Percy has never been good with big social gatherings. He reminds himself he’s doing this for George’s sake. A proper stag night to see him off before his wedding.

“I’m trying to find a way around it,” George is saying to Lee. “You’re my best man, but—my favourite brother needs to have a place of honour too. Why don’t men get bridesmaids? What’s up with that?”

“George,” Lee says tentatively, “Fred is—”

“Percy,” George says.

Percy pauses in motion, drink halfway to his lips, paralysed by shock. George’s eyes go wide, like he’s surprised even himself.

“I meant Percy.”

 

* * *

 

On the five year anniversary of the Battle, the Weasley family meets to go to Fred’s gravesite—minus some significant others, because Oliver’s attending a memorial for Quidditch players and Hermione has the Ministry event, which Percy is skipping.

George is the first to approach and the last to leave. As he crouches by the tombstone, Percy stands with Angelina, heavily pregnant with twins, and holds her arm to support her.

“One of them’s a boy,” Angelina says. “I want to call him Fred.”

Percy watches, helpless, as George leans forward, puts his head to the cold stone, and cries.

 

* * *

 

If someone had asked Percy, six years ago, which of his brothers he was least like, he wouldn’t have hesitated to name the twins. They were everything he wasn’t—confident, sociable, fun to be around. Happy.

These days he thinks differently. He would rather frame the question in a different light: who is he _most_ like? And when it comes down to the fine print—things like the force of their passion, how they go out of their way to broaden their knowledge, their desire to leave an impression and make it last—there’s no-one more like Percy than George.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! \o/


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